Disclaimer: The characters of Dr. Who and Ace are property of BBC. The characters of the Daleks are owned by Terry Nation. The character of Trynia Merin and Callom MacLaren are property of me, Trynia. My characters mean now harm to the show. This is written out of enjoyment for a creative show... and to preserve a good sf time travel saga!

Theresa E. Meyers

Written 1996, revised 1998

PROLOGUE: A SUDDEN CHANGE OF EVENTS

Screams echoed in the corridors of the Cerise, an Aries class survey ship. Frantically young Lieutenant Dumas raced away from a maddened band of people bent on only one thing: his death! A tear of exhaustion slid down his face as he stopped gasping before a silver grille. The sterile white corridors offered temporary refuge, yet would soon betray his whereabouts. At intervals in the tunnels lay the sleeping forms of many crew members. Those who had escaped sleep had become paranoid.

"Commander Morgan! They--they're after me!"

On the multi windowed command deck sat a weary control officer. Her ruffled hair frizzed in a cloud about her drooping head as she grimly listened to the crew member. Stars slid behind the glass, reflecting across her red rimmed eyes. "Take the secret access tunnel to the command deck." Before she could finish, the commander heard a blood-chilling scream. Sadly she closed her heavy eyelids. Veins bulged under the pale skin covering her hands as she depressed the recording button.

THIS is the Commander. I fear this will be my last entry. The madness has affected nearly thirty members of my crew . . . ten are dead . . . Untold others have slumped into a feverish sleep. They can't wake! I'm not sure which is worse, facing the mad crowd or falling prey to a nightmarish sleep. All around me is madness . . .

She continued till her weary head nodded from exhaustion. Glancing at her empty stimulant bottle, she started in fear. No more of the drugs existed to whisk her from the brink of madness. Footsteps mingled with ever louder angry shouts, closer, closer. A dozen fists pounded the steel door behind her. "This, is the end. I take my last stand. One sip away from insanity."

A bottle shattered on the floor, sending a thousand glittering shards of glass to scatter. They mirrored the stars' intensity, and the gleaming madness in the crews glassy eyes . . .

Fiona Vitreum slid her hands down the crystallin net relays readying the linkage between her computer and the TARDIS' computer. A vital countdown shouted into her ear as she watched the scanner screen for the vortex to flux. All around her shimmered and melted walls, like ice cream on a hot sidewalk. Only millimeters from a panel waved her finger as she waited for the walls of her ship to break down.

Then came the wheezing groan of dematerialization as the STAGE bore the TARDIS. Next came the dematerialization of the square blue TARDIS as it vanished free of its confines. Time winds gushed into the control room shattering the neural crystallin relays into thousands of glittering shards that slowly flew apart. Fiona Vitreum would be swallowed by the void of time-space with little chance to survive.

"We must simply try to stop the time wind penetration," was what the lad last remembered Vitreum saying. Callom clutched his tartan scarf and prayed she'd somehow survive.

"That's one brave bird," muttered the teenager standing next to the short fellow she called the Professor.

"A foolish child," grumbled the Doctor. "She just had to be the one to jettison the room form mechanism on her STAGE to release mine."

"Take care of Callom," she'd also begged them just before she swung her cloak round her quilted jacket shoulders. Into the glittering splendor of her time machine's control room she'd vanished.

"Even if she did survive and find a time lane to transit to, she couldn't withstand contact with the Vortex," finished the Doctor sadly.

"What if the Ranee got her an instant before that break down, Professor?" asked Ace. "She'd be much better off dead, Ace."

"How canna ye say such a thing?" wailed Callom.

"I know the Ranee. She uses captives for the most morbid experiments, said the Doctor gently stroking Callom's fair haired head. "I'm sorry, lad."

All seemed so still and heavy to Callom as he buried his young face in the Doctor's brown felt jacket. It was to this strange pair he turned for a shred of comfort. On the scanner screen played the horrid events again. A loud muffled groan from the TARDIS as it broke free of Vitreum's STAGE and hurtled into a safer part of the Vortex.

(Space Time Analogue Jaunt Enabler)

Yet as he reached to feel the aching loneliness existing after her death, he felt nothing. Not even the absence of her presence in his mind. "Doctor . . . when a friend of a telepath dies, is there a feeling of emptiness?"

"There is yes, for your mind becomes accustomed to sensing their thoughts. You, being of a telepathic species, have formed a bond with Vitreum."

"And ye Time Lords are also telepathic."

"Mildly so, yes."

"Then ye can sense Vitreum's thoughts almost as well as I ken?"

"Not as strongly no... what is your point?"

"When I reach out to find the emptiness I should feel," began Callom, shutting his eyes for a moment. "I feel nothing. If ye try-- dinna ye notice it's rather full of a nothing . . . not a void or a fullness . . . jest a nothing."

The Doctor stared into a metaphysical dimension. "Nothing comes from nothing. Not emptiness or a void. Yet in every myth, there is nothing before something. But that's in creation mythology. . . "

"What are you babbling about, Professor?" snapped Ace. "Callom's friend is dying, and you're . . . "

"Pardon me while I'm having a strange metaphysical interlude," he hissed. "Anyway, that Descartes was not quite so accurate when he said 'nothing comes from nothing.' At least not in the case of psychic sensing death. A void means the absence of something, which, since we can label and discern it, it is at least something."

"But a void is emptiness. And something empty has nothing," argued Ace.

"But you can fill a void. Nothing cannot be filled with something and still be nothing . . . " countered the Doctor, his voice raised to a strong shout. Hurriedly he swung round the console. "And that means there is still hope!"

"Wha on Earth is he on about?" asked Callom.

"It's one of his crazy spells, explained Ace throwing up her hands in resignation.

"Oh wait!" he exclaimed, suddenly realizing what the Doctor meant. "The Doctor said something about what nothing was . . . so if I felt nothing that didn't mean I felt emptiness. That means . . . "

An abbreviated wheeze groaned as the TARDIS rematerialized in some part of the Vortex. In pure wonder Ace and Callom gazed at the scanner. Hurtling across the undulating Vortex was a small opaque chamber that seemed lit from inside.

"What's that?"

"Now what was the program for adding rooms to the TARDIS configuration?" asked the Doctor of himself.

"Nau I feel something!" cried Callom excitedly. "But its verra faint."

"Ace, when I tell you to, open the TARDIS doors . . . " ordered the Doctor, both his hands flying across a pad of typewriter keys. Ace stood by the switch and readied herself.

All three Time Travelers gripped the console as the TARDIS shook from collision with an outside body. "Now!" shouted the Doctor. The doors swung open.

Out though the double doors the trio saw a dimming room. It was none other than the console room from the STAGE! Wearily into the TARDIS console room stumbled a figure clad in tattered clothing.

"Vitreum!" cried Callom, as he raced toward her.

"Stay back," Vitreum cautioned. "There may still be . . . radiation . . . "

"You're safe in here no matter what," said the Doctor, stepping forwards. "Close the doors, Ace."

"What happened?" begged Callom.

"You saved us from death and disaster," congratulated the Doctor softly. "Though not necessarily in that order."

Vitreum smiled a pale smile, only a mere shadow of her old self. Indeed her whole body seemed a mere phantasm as she stumbled further onto the flight deck. Her hair was streaked with white, as if with age, and her eyes were glazed embers with dark circles under them. "Callom . . . we are safe?"

"Yes, ye saved us all!" he gulped down, trying to mask his fear.

"What the heck did you do?" demanded Ace, but before Vitreum could answer, she pitched headlong onto the hard floor.

All three rushed to her, falling on their knees round her. The Doctor felt the pulse in her neck. Callom turned her head so she could look sideways at them. "Hai-Callom," she breathed, smiling weakly at him. "So worried about me. Didn't I tell you, that this might happen?"

"She's dying," muttered Ace, laying a hand on Callom's shoulder. She knelt on one knee behind the lad as he propped Vitreum's head on his kilted knees.

"It's all right Vitreum," said the Doctor softly. "You don't have to fight it now. Just let it happen naturally."

"Please, don' leave me," sobbed Callom, sniffling at the tears rolling down his pale young cheeks.

"I will never leave you . . . " stammered Vitreum, looking up at him. "I promised to get you to Scotland . . . oh, Doctor . . . can you please?"

"Of course," nodded the Doctor, holding her hand. "Ace and I will take care of him."

Rolling her eyes up to Callom, Vitreum blinked a small smile into existence. "Don't pine over me . . . or grieve," she whispered.

"I'm na crying... at least not now," he whispered.

"All things come . . . to their lowest energy state . . . that's entropy that is. The cycle continues . . . life from non life . . . "

At those words her voice failed her, and she lay very still. Her head dropped limply into Callom's lap. At once he felt the emptiness flooding his mind that he'd dreaded for so long.

The teenager helped to move Vitreum's head and shoulders off of Callom's knees. Then she removed Vitreum's glasses and lay her jacket over the young scientist's face. "Out of respect," she muttered.

"Now just why did you do that?" asked the Doctor sternly.

"Out of respect for the dead, Professor," countered Ace. She slid her arm around Callom's back as he cried softly to himself. He buried his face against her young chest.

"Now what makes you think she's dead?"

"I know a dead person when I see them, Professor."

"Vitreum is not just a person, at least not a human being like you or Callom," said the Doctor. "There might be just one chance in a billion of saving her."

"What are ye saying?" demanded Callom, fighting back tears.

"She's a Mantissan . . . at least an evolutionary descendant . . . and they have a peculiar property. Otherwise, why would the Ranee have been interested in them for her genetic experiments?"

Ace watched as the Doctor raced from the room. "Ace, get that scanner screen on line!"

However, Ace stayed beside the young Scott, trying her best to reassure him. That was hard, because she was just as uncertain as he as to what the Doctor was doing. All she could to was touch his shoulder as he spoke softly to Vitreum, taking her head and shoulders onto his lap. She barely moved, and her hands were ice cold.

Within minutes the Doctor burst into the TARDIS control room, carrying something. He whipped off his coat and hat, tossing them onto the hat rack. After he grabbed something from his pocket, he punched a few keys on one control panel. "What are you doin, Professor?" she asked. "Sh!" he hissed, raising his hand to cut her off. "I'm right in the middle of some crucial calculations."

"She's gonna die, and all you can do is play with your bleeding console . . . "

"Ace, be a good girl and get me this equipment from the lab. Hurry now!"

He handed her a hastily scribbled list.

"Doctor, what are ye doin?" asked Callom, looking up from Vitreum.

Ace returned, carrying a rack of test tubes and a box. Turning from the Console, the Doctor snatched the equipment from her. He raced to Vitreum's side, and rolled up his sleeves. Callom saw strange equations forming on the scanner screen.

"What is that?" Ace asked.

"Stand back, both of you . . . "

"That looks like that formula the Ranee was working on . . . " realized Ace. Her knowledge of Chemistry allowed her to pick out the bare bones of the equations flashing across the monitor.

"Mix these together," he instructed, shoving two bottles into her hands.

"When I tell you to. I'm taking a blood sample . . . "

"I don't get what you're trying . . . "

"Please Ace, you've got to do exactly what I say if we have the remotest chance of saving Vitreum . . . "

Desperately Callom watched the two Time Travelers as they worked feverishly over a chemistry set. Purplish ichor swished into the hypodermic cartridge as the Doctor pulled the plunger. "All right Ace," he said, holding the syringe up before his eyes. "Hold out the analyzer . . . "

One drop of blood spread up a TLC filter. The Doctor's portable electrophoresis unit, he explained. Every few seconds he glanced at the formulas flashing across the scanner, and shouted some directions to Ace. To Callom's surprise he saw the Doctor thrusting a needle into his own arm.

"I want to know what you're doing to her . . . " demanded Callom. "What's all this taking blood for?"

"There's no time to explain now!"

"Look, if yuir going t' do any weird experiments on her . . . forget it!"

"Callom, it's the only chance she's got. The Ranee was working on a project of gene splicing. Of course my technique might not be as efficient . . . but it should help her . . . "

"Are you sure you know what you're doing, Prof.?" asked Ace, glancing up from her test tube rack.

"Her body has remarkable regenerative capabilities. But unfortunately her DNA is damaged. The sequences that control her abilities to heal are damaged. There may be a chance at substituting those key nucleotide sequences with new donor DNA . . . and pushing her body to regenerate . . . "

"Ye mean heal her . . . "

"Exactly, Callom. But not quite in the way you might think . . . "

"What DNA?" demanded Callom.

"My own..."

"You can't be serious . . . "

"Ace, just do as I say . . . "

"Doctor, ye can't shoot something into her! It may kill her!

"Callom, it's the only way."

"I canna permit ye . . . "

Ace moved over to the Scots lad. Took his shoulders. "Look, I don't know what he's up to really, but I do know that he's pulled some real surprises in the past. If he says there's a way, there's a way."

"It's jest that . . . "

"Callom, think what Vitreum would want," sighed the Doctor, wiping sweat from his face with a paisley hankie.

"I think she'd want . . . to live. . . " he murmured. "And I dinna want her to die. If ye say there's a chance at all to save her."

"Trust me."

That look of gentle sadness and wisdom in the Doctor's eyes went to his heart. Slowly Callom nodded, biting his lip. He had little choice. All he felt were Ace's hands on his shoulders, helping him to rise.

"Stand well back . . . "

On his haunches he squatted next to her. Took the test tube Ace had mixed. Carefully, he drew up the fluid into a syringe. Callom felt mixed hope rising in him as he watched the plunger descend.

"Look at her," cried Callom, who had suddenly looked up from his crying. He stared raptly at the body. Something was happening. A shimmering gold aura enveloped Vitreum, melting the contours of her body.

Of its own accord, the TARDIS door swung open. Countless ghostly images fluttered in the Vortex. They swarmed round her body, one finally merging with the golden radiance. Callom heard low groans from under the jacket as the light blazed to brilliance.

"Don't fight it!" urged the Doctor. "You must choose!" They could discern the bones of her skeleton before they vanished behind muscle, fat, and flesh being laid down.

"What the . . . " gasped Ace.

"Regeneration," said the Doctor simply. "A new beginning for Vitreum. "But I sense this is difficult for her. She's going to be shaken up considerably. This is the first time a non-Gallifreyan has attempted bodily regeneration."

Tense minutes passed as they studied the body writhing and twisting in agony as the features changed. Then came a time where the cries stopped. Finally the light faded and the console room was silent and still.

"Vitreum . . . " called the Doctor softly, pulling the jacket from over her head. "Can you hear me?"

Callom stared at a much different person. The face was fuller, more of an oval shape. Lustrous brown hair, streaked with black underneath, rippled over her neck. Dark lashed eyes fluttered open to reveal dark brown eyes that fixed vaguely on everyone.

She sat boldly upright . . . and glanced around. "Watch out! Mt. St. Helens is alive!" she shouted, in a peculiar accent. "The conjugate base of a weak acid is strong..."

"Vitreum . . . you're not quite yourself."

"Vitreum? Who's that?" responded the stranger, genuinely puzzled.

"Och! You're Vitreum . . . you canna remember yuir own name?" cried Callom, nearly beside himself with grief.

"Someone stop the room," she muttered. "I want to get off." Then she collapsed to the flight deck again.

"Criminy," said Ace. "She's become a Yank!"

Mirror lined walls rose up all around them. Save on one side where a dancing field of lasers separated them from freedom. Callom hunched down into the corner of his cell, miserably fixing his eyes on Trynia's huddled form.

Ace tried her best to nurse the geologist's recent burn. Offering soothing words were all she could do to keep Trynia quiet. Finally the pain forced her into dreamless unconsciousness. She lay there on her cloak so rigidly and still, hardly breathing.

Callom hugged his knees, and said nothing. He was sure he could hear himself whimpering, to his shame. Someone's hand rested on his shoulder, reassurance in its very touch.

"It wasn't your fault, lad," said the Doctor softly. A trace of Scots accent laced his voice. A reassuring burr that went straight to Callom's core.

"If she hadna pushed me outta the way . . . she'd be all right," he replied shakily.

"Friends are always making sacrifices for me, when I don't exactly expect them to," explained the Doctor, removing his hat. He pulled himself closer to Callom, and sat down very much the same. Like two schoolboys they perched side by side, hugging their knees and talking quietly.

"But has one of yuir friends ever died savin ye?"

"There were a few times . . . but mostly . . . "

Silence choked off his reply for a moment. "But my companions always managed to come out safe and well, after I set them straight."

The male arrogance made Callom smile, briefly. "It's jest that she almost died a few hours ago. "

"I know. But think of it this way. When a Time Lord is injured, they slip into a protective coma. Many times I've fooled a friend or enemy into thinking I'm dead."

"Oh, I betcha they love that," smiled Callom.

"One of my friends in particular was fooled all the time. Her name was Sarah Jane Smith. She'd always believed I'd died, and be hunched over me, crying . . . and then I'd sit up perfectly fit . . . "

"And she'd freak," finished Callom, shaking his head. "Ye gotta admit that was a dirty trick to play on her. But Trynia is no Time Lord."

"What I mean is, lad, is that her species often shuts down to conserve energy mending itself. Very similar to my own race."

"What makes ye so sure? I thought y' said that you've na met many Mantissans before . . . "

"She regenerated. It's entirely possible that the introduced DNA will . . . er lend her some of the other properties of a Time Lord as well."

"I hope yuir right."

Meanwhile Trynia stirred, and pushed up against a hard cold floor. Someone had spread her cloak out for her to lay upon. "Easy, now, don't move, yank. "

"Ace, how long have I been out cold?"

"Couldn't tell you. You crashed after you saw the burn . . . "

"Why did you hide it from me. I can take being injured . . . "

"The prof. was scared you'd do something crazy . . . "

"What does he think I am, stupid?" grumbled Trynia, pushing herself up onto one bent elbow. "I'm perfectly capable of mitigating any of my own emotional responses . . . "

"You were so shaken up after . . . the experiment . . . "

"What's with you all anyway? Don't you trust me?"

"Of course we do, Tryn . . . "

"Have I changed that much? Must've. I no longer talk like a dictionary, " she muttered.

"I wouldn't know how you were like . . . only just met you after that freaking Ranee."

"Callom, are you all right? " she asked across the separation.

"I'm fine," he replied, trying to sound brave.

"I'm sorry I got you all into this mess. You should have tried to escape while you could."

"We couldn't just leave you . . . " snapped Ace. "That's not our style . . . "

"Don't be ridiculous, Vitreum," said the Doctor. "You saved our lives, remember."

"How can you be so sure that the Ranee's experiment didn't include some other more sinister manipulation? She could have subconsciously reprogrammed me with her experiment . . . "

Callom and the Doctor exchanged glances. "I checked yuir mind," said the Scots boy. "It's about . . . the same as before."

"After all, aren't you and the lad psychically bonded?" pointed out the Doctor.

"The way my powers have been failing me lately, no one can be sure . . . "

"I should know ye by nau . . . " began Callom.

"No lad, she's got you there," said the Doctor. "We cannot be sure that the experiment didn't alter her powers. After all, her DNA structure has been reconfigured."

"I can no longer use psychokinesis, and believe me that's no great loss. Except now when it would be handy to have. . . Uh!"

Trynia again felt the searing pain afflicting her thigh. Already her body struggled to heal the injury, but it was working overtime. Blackness seeped over her vision once again. Her friend's voices receded into the distance.

The last few days had been some of the most physically traumatic for Trynia. Most of the time she weaved in and out of a comatose state, like a swimmer resurfacing from beneath a smothering sea. She didn't want to wake from the strange half dreams and snug darkness that felt so comfortable.

Half dreams separated out as her mind paged through the memories. Even the memories themselves seemed mostly fictional. Memories of intense physical and mental pain mingled with images of Callom's frightened face begging her to live.

Visions of the Ranee's smiling austere triumph as she extracted the very blueprints of Trynia's life. And tried to warp them to her reality. Yet had she really succeeded?

Hadn't Callom seized the formula at the last moment, teleporting to safety? How had he escaped her biological snares?

The Time Lord called the Doctor must have helped Callom. The Doctor and his companion Ace. Showing up in the nick of time by some inexplicable coincidence.

Horrible pain wracked her body again after she felt the radiation of the Time Wind penetration. Radiation riddling every cell of her body. Even her phenomenal powers of physical recuperation couldn't save her from death. Nevertheless, she'd been brought back from the brink of nonexistence in the physical sense.

Horrible pain spread across each bone and muscle, once torn apart and re-knitted into a new blueprint. A blueprint chosen at random from a seemingly endless universe of possibilities. Regeneration was an alien concept to her people. Sure some had the ability to psychically manipulate their physical appearance temporarily, but most often the change was purely cosmetic.

Time Lord regeneration was a total change.

She'd awakened to soft light and silence, except the distant humming of some powerful generator. Someone's shadow had handed her a squeeze bottle of water to wet her lips. Then she'd slipped under again.

Only to shake off sleep and sit boldly upright. Surprised that she was breathing, that the triple beat of her pulmonary system delivered blood to all parts of her body. Small hands rubbed at encrusted eyes, and everything was blurry.

Of course. The eyes were always a problem. She was allergic to chemicals capable of curing the deficiency. Hence the solution of glasses, a primitive yet effective sight correction. Fuzzy shadows and lights formed themselves into a watercolor rendering of a room. The brown square mass off in the distance must be a chair. A rounded blob right before her eyes was the tip of her nose. Something soft fell into her eyes. Feeling its stringy soft texture she realized it must be hair. But was her hair so long?

"Just how long was I asleep," she wondered without speaking.

But she shouldn't be here. Shouldn't she be at the base camp, at the foot of the mountain? At Mt. St. Helens in Washington state, on Earth. With the other geologists.

Geologists? Since when was she at Mt. St. Helens? Or at any volcano?

Again she looked down at the hands. They felt too small. Somehow the fingers were much shorter in proportion to the palms. She wondered if there had been some corrective surgery done. Seeing any sign of sutures was not usual, many civilizations could use lasers or skin grafting enzymes to promote healing.

She struggled out of the covers. The bed felt like a sleeping bag tossed over a form fitting couch supporting back and knees. Hard floor rose up from underneath her and knocked the wind from her peripheral lungs. Hard cold floor that was glassy smooth. All around her fell long brown strands.

The woman took a length of the strands in her hand and stared at the tips. It was long enough to fall well below her shoulders. Her own body seemed to feel different. As if she'd changed into new clothes. But the fleshly casement of the body felt wrong.

She looked down at hands pressed against the floor. Small hands. Looked down at large breasts and thighs curving beneath the loose garment sheathing her body.

A body that was wrong. Small hands felt sloping shoulders and wide hips, soft living hair. Eyes looked at feet that were wide and short toed. Humanoid feet and fingers, four to each hand with an opposable thumb. Much like it should be.

"Four limbs. Humanoid appearance. Like before," she said. And heard a stranger's voice whining through her head.

Fudge brown hair swept over her shoulders. Hair was something programmed for appearance's sake. Smooth skin instead of rough. Perhaps it was just an optical distortion of her physical features. But she could feel the solidness of the body, and the weight of the bones. Again she pushed against a floor and swayed to stand.

Beneath her, the floor rocked from side to side, and only the wall could stop her from falling. "Here! You shouldn't be out of bed, girl!"

"What . . . "

Rolling along the wall she faced the speaker. A figure with pink fleshy features atop black and multicolored blobs. Quickly it came into focus as it approached her. Inches away the blob became the face and shoulders of a young female human. Her eyes registered the human emotion of concern blended with pique.

"You only just came out of it . . . lie down . . . c'mon . . . "

Hands took her arms and guided her to the bed. The woman took faltering steps, tripping over her own small feet.

"I shouldn't be here . . . they need me at the camp . . . "

"What the 'ell are you babbling on about? You gave us all a nasty fright. Come on and lay down . . . "

"I don't know who you are, or where I am, but I need to get out of here and back to the base camp. There's going to be an eruption any day . . . "

"Fiona . . . listen to me. You're safe now. Just lie down. You're not yourself."

"Who is Fiona?"

"That's your name. Fiona Vitreum," she sighed, trying to be patient. "Now lay down. The Professor'll freak if he sees you up and moving."

She let the girl sit her down. "Where am I?"

"In the TARDIS. Don't you remember? You almost bought it . . . "

"I don't get it. Who are you?"

"I'm Ace. You've had a nasty accident, and you're just recovering. You need to crash . . . or you'll never get over it."

"Crash?"

"You know, lay down, rest?"

"Oh, yes. But I haven't got time to rest. There's so much to do . . . "

"What are you talking about? Don't you remember anything?"

"What am I supposed to remember?"

Ace spun some story of a fantastic adventure. The woman didn't match any of it with her memory.

"That's not right," insisted the woman. "I'd never have a dumb name like Fiona."

"That's what Callom said your name was . . . "

Callom. The name exploded images out of the nothingness. At last she remembered before the pain. Or at least pieces began to fall into a coherent plot-line.

"Callom! Is he okay? What happened to him?"

"He's fine. Now just take it easy . . . "

"Did the Ranee get to him?" she demanded, eyes wide with horror. Ace felt the woman's small hand clamping on her upper arm with amazing strength.

"Here now, stop that!"

"I must know! I'm responsible for him!"

Urgency shivered through the woman's arm and viselike grip. It was clear that the mention of Callom had temporarily jogged her memory. Best to take advantage of this new development, the teenager thought. "He . . . he's helping the Doctor now. He was really scared to death . . . but he's coming through well."

Ace raced to keep up with her. Down the maze of corridors she stumbled blindly after the Mantissan humanoid. Despite her hazy mind, this woman possessed incredible endurance. For what seemed like hours she explored the winding corridors of the TARDIS with a halting, yet measured pace. A pace she deliberately used to mark the distance traveled.

At last Ace caught up to the woman. Vitreum stood inside a vast chamber filled with clothing racks. Hands groped at various garments as they held up shirts and cloaks. The teenager shook her head. This woman may not be human but she seemed to share a trait common to many Earthly females, the need to find the right outfit. As sexist as this sounded it was somehow reassuring. It was the first normal thing this woman had done since she woke up.

Now she held a frilly shirt up to herself and looked. Shook her head. Turned to the other racks.

"Nothing to wear, eh, Yank?" Ace said.

Not even turning to look at her, the woman called Vitreum replied, "Amazing. All these garments and not a single undergarment . . . "

"You looking for a bra or something?" the teenager tried.

"I doubt if your Doctor friend would worry about something that mundane."

"'E doesn't really run a store, if you see what I'm saying. Most of this stuff's ancient. Really stone age . . . "

"Clothing is not a matter of vanity . . . but of necessity. Some species don't require garments, but others do. More out of protection than outdated need for modesty . . . "

"What's wrong, Yank?"

"By the Author! Who is that?"

"That's you. Right in that mirror. Don't tell me that you don't know what a mirror is . . . "

Right in front of them was a floor length mirror, with the image of a very startled Vitreum reflected there. "Th-that's me?"

Ace realized that she hadn't yet seen her own reflection. She was totally surprised, and horrified. Dark brown eyes squinted and blinked as they struggled to take in the blurred reflection.

"That cannot be . . . "

"Its okay, Yank. You're gonna be okay, "

Fear turned into a grim acceptance of the facts. "What is responsible for this?" she demanded, placing a hand to her face. Small hands felt the cheeks, the bridge of the nose, and the ears. "I wasn't able to Characterize ever before . . . "

"It was the Ranee," Ace said hastily. "Her experiment. By the time we found you were changing . . . "

"I thought I saw her extract my nucleic material," muttered the woman, anger darkening her new features. "But this. Only certain members of my species can psionically alter their appearance, for a time. It should revert. But who was I patterned after . . . "

"I don't know what you're babbling about, but the Professor says you've done something called regeneration."

"Regeneration?" laughed the woman. "Impossible. My body can regenerate its integrity without changing my appearance. Characterization is what I've undergone. I must have had some person alter my appearance with their psychokinesis . . . "

"No . . . you've regenerated. Like a Time Lord . . . "

"I'm no Time Lord! That's impossible! Unless . . . Dear Creator she couldn't have . . . "

Hand to her forehead, she sank toward the floor. Ace ran to catch her as she crumpled, but was knocked off balance by the woman's greater body weight. So she guided her to a prone position.

Dark eyes fluttered open after a half minute. Squinted up at Ace. Then the Mantissan sat bold upright. "I passed out, right?"

"Got that right. Are you okay?"

"Now I am. There's no need for you to fret. I'm not crazy, and I'm not going to do something out of bounds. And don't give me that pitying look."

"But the . . . "

"Please. Just leave me be, Ace. Just for a few minutes until I can figure out who I am again . . . "

"Might take you more than a few minutes," muttered the teenager as she left.

Hurtling through the Vortex where Space and Time combined was an odd craft indeed. With its erratic steering, the vessel always ended up in the last place any of them expected. From the outside, it resembled a square blue 1950s Police Box. Yet its inner dimensions far exceeded its outward appearance.

Inside a sterile gleaming control room stood two Time Travelers. The first one bent over a six sided console calmly flipping switches. He stared intently at the information screen before him. This traveler, with countless adventures behind him, was called the Doctor. In his most recent incarnation, this shorter version had age and experience on his side. "Seems there's a bit of flux in the xR-370 section of the Vortex," he muttered, straightening up. Across his sweater was knitted a pattern of question marks and zigzags.

"Does tha mean trouble, Doctor?" asked Callom MacLaren, the other traveler in the room. He moved nervously toward the wall.

"Youngsters," thought the Doctor. "Always worrying about the littlest things." Chuckling to himself, the Doctor remembered how this lad always found his worst fears were completely unfounded.

Suddenly, a jolt shook the TARDIS. "What was that?" gasped Callom, steadying himself by clinging to the Louis XIV chair.

"Simply a bit of time turbulence, my lad," reassured the Doctor. "Nothing to worry yourself about."

A teen-aged girl wearing a denim skirt over black leggings and a Sonic Youth T-shirt emerged from the corridors. "Ah, Ace. How's our patient faring?"

"She was pretty flaky for a while, Doctor, but she's acting pretty normal now."

"So she's up and about, I can safely assume."

"You wouldn't think she was laying stiff on her back a few hours ago . . . " began Ace, but stopped when the Doctor threw her a sharp glance.

"Sorry, kid," she apologized. "I was forgetting you were up here."

Callom shrugged and pulled down his sweater over his waist again. The son of a twentieth century Scottish laird, Callom wore the traditional tartan of his clan MacLaren. Only recently had he come to travel with the Doctor and Ace. Bravely the fair haired young Scot smiled at the Doctor. "It's okay. Jest as long as she's all right, nothing bothers me for long."

"Where are we headed Professor?" Ace asked him, trying to change the subject.

"A little vacation planet I learned about the last time I was at Maruthia . . . "

"The last time you and I were there, there was that big bust up. At Bonjaxx's," snorted Ace. "I wasn't sure we'd get outta there with our skins on."

"I was assured that this planet . . . well was a prime spot. And what our patient needs now is a neutral environment."

"Somewhere neutral? She should have gone to Perivale."

"Where's Perivale?" asked Callom.

"Ace's hometown," said the Doctor. "According to Ace, it's right in the middle of nowhere."

"Jest make certain it's a peaceful place enau . . . "

"I'll try, Callom. I used to have a Zero Room on the TARDIS. Normally that's the perfect neutral environment for a regenerated Time Lord. But I had to jettison it for thrust a long time ago."

"That the same time you jettisoned the pool, Doctor?"

"Ace, I already told you I have no control over what piece of the TARDIS is detached when I do that . . . "

Another shock sent them all grabbing for the nearest object. The resulting shudder threw Callom into the chair, and sent Ace flying into the far wall. Naturally the Doctor gripped the TARDIS console. "Feels like something jest fell off yuir TARDIS nau . . . "

"That's impossible . . . Callom . . . "

Again the room vibrated. Through the door stumbled a stocky, dark-haired woman clutching the door frame for support. A red vest with multiple pockets hung from her broad shoulders. "I know this isn't an active fault zone, Doctor, " she said conversationally. "But you didn't tell me you'd need a seismograph . . . "

"Vitreum!" laughed Callom, running to her. "I'm so glad yuir awake again!" Momentarily, he hesitated flinging his arms around her. From past experience, he feared she'd reprimand him for making a scene.

To his surprise she scooped him up in a bear hug. "Callom! Nice t' see you again!" she cried. "How's my boy?"

Delighted, he wrapped his arms around her neck and hugged her hard in a choke hold that would have strangled an ordinary human. The Mantissan was far from human, for she lifted him with such ease. "Nau everything's gonna be okay!"

"I certainly hope so," she whispered, feeling his lips press against her hair.

"Wonderful to see you up and about . . . " smiled the Doctor, walking over to them. "You had me worried . . . Vitreum . . . er . . . "

"What's wrong, Doctor?"

Scratching his head, the Doctor looked sheepish. "To tell you the truth. What exactly is your name? You insisted that it wasn't Fiona . . . "

Certainly she dressed differently than before, with her green coveralls and puffy sleeved blouse. That red vest looked just like the sort a hiker or a fisherman would wear, with its dozens of pockets of assorted sizes. All that was familiar was the segmented headband fastened around the crown of her scalp, keeping her fudge brown shoulder-length hair out of her face.

"Oh, is that all?" laughed the Mantissan. A nice hearty laugh, thought the Doctor. Still she was holding Callom as if he were a small toddler. "Fiona was a pseudonym I used on Earth. Actually my real name is unpronounceable. In even your language, Doctor."

"We can't just call you Hey you," insisted Ace.

"The closest English approximation to my real name is Vytryniawahr. At least that's my given Mantissan name, in syllables the English language is capable of vocalizing." "Och, can I call ye Trynia?" suggested Callom. "Tha's a wee bit simpler to remember."

"Hmm. Sounds nice to me," she smiled, looking towards Ace. As if asking her approval. Ace smiled, and nodded. "Better than Fiona, anyway."

Momentarily, the lights in the TARDIS went off.

"Professor!" Ace snapped. "What in blue blazes happened to the lights?"

There was a thump and a grunt. "How should I know?"

"Well don't you have a power gauge or something?"

"I did, but the readout light is on the blink . . . "

All was plunged into darkness, save some lights flickering on the TARDIS console. Carefully Vitreum set Callom down. "What's going on?" he whispered to her.

"Wait there a moment, kid."

She groped her way to the console panel, where one light had caught her eye. "Hey Doctor," she said. "This warning message on the visual scanner panel. I think there's something outside you should see . . . "

"What?"

"The scanner's detecting a strange cloud of particles congealing on the TARDIS's exterior!"

Quickly the Doctor switched on the screen. As a panel in the roundelled wall slid down, all four stared in amazement at a shimmering cloud flickering against the background of stars. "Hyperbolic," muttered Ace, standing transfixed.

"How did we dematerialize out in space without me knowing?" demanded the Doctor. "Better not be the High Council asking me to do their dirty work for them again!"

"I didn't hear the remote control mechanism," said Ace.

"But the coordinates read outer space," puzzled the Doctor. The shimmering lights cast a flickering multicolored display, playing off the walls and faces of the crew. "Callom! Get on the Fault Locator," shouted the Doctor through a high-pitched wailing that had started. Just as the youth stumbled his way to the bank of computers, the lights blinked back on.

"Och! Nae need for that nau," muttered the boy irritably.

Sparkling vapor penetrated the walls and seeped into the room. Trynia leapt back in surprise. Ace and Callom scattered, alarmed.

"How'd it get in here?" Trynia wondered, finger pushing her glasses further along the bridge of her upturned nose.

"Most interesting," observed the Doctor. "The momentary blackout temporarily let down the force-field, deshielding the TARDIS's temporal stability..."

"I don't care how the flamin' thing got in here!" yelled Ace. "What the 'eck is it?"

"Doctor! It's headed toward the console!"

"Eh, Callom?" grunted the Doctor, intently studying a panel on the console. Shimmering, it hovered closer to the six sided console, and the oblivious Doctor. Bewildered, he glanced up as all the shimmering particles in the cloud's heart pressed together, and leapt directly into the power core. There was a flash, and a bang. The Doctor was thrown back. Ace rushed to help the Doctor to his feet. A third jolt flung her toward where Callom stood. Dizzily, the TARDIS whirled about like a crazy merry-go-round. Its passengers pressed close to the walls form the intense centrifugal force. Whining pulsed to a drone, beating the air about them. "Ace! This is a real thrill!" exclaimed the young twentieth century teenager.

"This . . . isn't supposed . . . to be . . . happening!" grunted the Doctor, pressed flat to the roundelled wall. He struggled to pull free by pressing the flats of his palms against the sides of the chamber.

"No joke, Dick Tracy!" shouted Trynia, over the rising roar of the rotation. "I feel like a slab of wall paper! You gotta hit the Transference switch! Get us away from here."

The droning vibrated the spinning chamber, growing steadily in volume and intensity. It drilled into Callom and Ace's brains. "What's . . . happening?" moaned Callom, sick from the motion.

"Disruption. Of the temporal . . . continuum!" gasped the Doctor. "Something's causing ripples . . . in our path!" At last he managed to break free of the wall. Moving painfully in slow motion, he approached the console. He stretched out his arms, fingers only inches from the console. Pressure forced in from all sides to halt his progress.

"It cannae be that Time Wind again, can it?" groaned Callom.

"No! We would have been fizzled away by now!" shouted Trynia. "It's something else!"

"Don't think I like this anymore," mumbled Ace feebly. Head tipped to the side, she could barely stay awake. The pressure and droning bombarded her skull relentlessly. Beside her, young Callom moaned. Both slipped in and out of consciousness. Pinned to the wall, neither he nor Ace could have the sweet relief of a horizontal faint. The incessant droning filled their minds, suspending them between blackout and alertness.

Trynia strained intense mental vibrations through her headband. She swept out with her thoughts, focusing her mind on the one particular lever that would end the misery. Gritting against the droning pulsation dominating her mind, she pried herself loose from the wall. Somehow she fought against the force, driving it back with her mind. Reached out her arm, throwing herself forwards to grab the levers. Just a few millimeters took enormous strength.

Relief resounded in the wheezing groan of dematerialization. Emergency materialization jarred the TARDIS, flinging the passengers to the flight deck. All lapsed into blissful nothingness. A sound, like a dozen elephants trumpeting, reverberated the corridors of a space ship. The oblong, blue shape of a London Police Box blinked in and out of existence battling to become solid.

"Not to worry," reassured the Doctor, firmly restraining her with one hand. "Relax. Breaking through that force requires a considerable amount of energy from anyone."

"I would have used psychokinesis . . . but I just couldn't seem to do it. All I could do was to pry me loose with brute strength . . . and somehow once I thought about fighting against the force . . . I was able to . . . "

"Steady on, you've only just recovered from a terrible genetic experiment by the Ranee. You're still bound to be shaken up a trifle."

"Wish I could sit up. At least I could help them . . . "

Supporting her shoulders with one arm, the Doctor helped her to sit. "Easy now, take a drink of this."

Trynia drank some water from the plastic glass he offered her. "Our young friends are taking a well-deserved rest," he indicated with a wave of his hand.

Looking past his shoulder, Trynia saw Ace and Callom, laying flat upon the floor. Both had pillows slipped under their heads and space blankets covering their figures. "Poor kids," muttered Trynia. "They're sure out of it."

"Occurred to me it was wise not to move them, or rouse them yet."

"That blasted droning was enough to cause a dozen headaches . . . "

"Quite," agreed the Doctor, gingerly rubbing the back of his scalp. "I'm inclined to agree."

With more sips of water, Trynia began to feel her usual self. "Think I'll try standing now," she told the Doctor. Grasping her hands, the Time Lord pulled her to her feet. He stumbled over to the TARDIS console.

"We've materialized," said the Doctor, glancing over several of the indicators. On one of the panels, he noticed several damaged controls, and smelled the stench of smoldering circuits. "Could you be so kind as to check the Fault Locator, Vitreum . . . er . . . Trynia."

"Several of the principal mains are blown, Doctor. Whatever that cloud was, it fizzled a lot of your directional controls."

"In for a spot of repair work, I see," sighed the Doctor, running his fingers through his dark hair. "The navigation relays are shot."

With a rustle of blankets, Callom began to stir. Trynia shuffled over to him and supported his head upon her knees. "Rise and shine, Kid," she whispered, and to her relief his fair lashed eyes soon opened.

*You need not be so worried about me, nau, he transmitted, telepathically.

*But you are my responsibility, Callom, she returned, face grim and serious. *I can't help but be concerned for you.

"Ahem," coughed someone dryly. Looking up, Callom and Trynia saw the Doctor looking toward them from the console. Callom glanced at her and they both smiled. Somehow the Doctor was a bit uncomfortable when he couldn't hear conversations aboard TARDIS.

"Oh, my head . . . " moaned Ace, stirring from beneath her blanket.

"Callom . . . would you be so kind as to fetch some water and tend to Ace now?"

"Jest a minute . . . " "Don't worry Callom," said Trynia. "I'll go."

Callom sat down on the Louis XIV chair and watched the Doctor work. On his back with his face buried into the console he banged and clattered with the TARDIS workings. Occasionally he'd mutter something, and his black and white shoes would twitch out his frustration. He looked like a mechanic tucked under a car.

Gently Trynia offered water to the teenager Ace. "Here . . . take all you want. Relax . . . " she soothed, supporting Ace's head and shoulders on one arm.

"A turnabout's fair play, eh?' she smiled weakly to Trynia.

"What's with the Doctor?"

"That phenomenon blew a few relays, I guess," she explained, nodding over her shoulder. "Doctor's just patching her back together . . . "

"It figures, right enough. He's always fixing something . . . "

"He says it's the navigational control."

"What else is new? We never know where we're gonna end up, anyway."

"Now since we all seem accounted for, let us see exactly where we seem to have materialized," he said, rising from the floor.

"All fixed, Doc?" asked Trynia.

"As far as I can tell," he replied, wiping his hands on his plaid pants. "Luckily there's a few spares in the emergency units, till I can land somewhere to replace the mains . . ."

"I don't care where we are," said Ace, standing with Trynia's help. "As far as you can tell it's fixed? What kinda answer is that?"

"It's the only one I can give you, Ace."

"No way this crazy naff heap is fixed, Professor! I want out!"

"A crazy naff heap?" exclaimed the Doctor reprovingly. "My TARDIS? Just remember who's . . . "

"Relax, Doctor," spoke Trynia, moving between them. "We're all cranky because we don't know just what in the Galaxy that cloud was. Or who sent it."

Ten . . . nine . . . eight . . . seven . . . counted Ace in her mind. Trynia could sense the tension as she grasped for self control. "Shall we take a look on the screen, Professor?"

"Ah, yes Ace," he replied, his eyebrows lifting upwards in interest. Both his hands rushed over the scanner circuits to check the outside environment readings. "Let's see . . . Atmosphere is 21% oxygen; gravity is four-fifths of earth's; temperature a steady 285 Kelvin. We should be quite comfortable," he muttered.

Two panels on the roundelled wall slid open to reveal the scanner. Onto its screen appeared empty metal corridors.

"Looks harmless enau," said Callom, standing next to Trynia.

"Huh, I'm not so sure," mused the geologist. Slowly she fingered her chin, narrowing her brown eyes behind her thick glasses.

"Come on then," he urged, eyes brightening. "I'd love to see if there are any aliens aboot!"

"You would," quipped Ace. The Doctor walked over to the coat rack. "Agreed then? A little walk around?" he proposed, tossing on a battered straw hat and a brown half-belted coat.

"I'm game for that," said Ace, pulling on her black satin jacket littered with patches and pins. She scooped up her knapsack and slung it over one shoulder.

"You just want to get out of the TARDIS," grinned Trynia.

"Well then, let's go, Doctor," goaded Callom. He knotted a tartan scarf around his neck and donned a black coat trimmed with square silver buttons. Trynia took a sky-blue cloak from the hat-rack. Rather hesitatingly she attached the cloak to her vest, so it draped neatly over one shoulder. Picking up his umbrella, the Doctor hit the door switch. In the far wall the huge double doors sung open to reveal a hexagonal passage.

Callom looked up at the Mantissan geologist. He could tell she was putting on a cheerful face for the Doctor. Nevertheless, he sensed Trynia was suspicious of the Time Lord. Did she speculate what had really happened after the Ranee's plot?

For a time the corridor meandered. They saw several hatches set at regular intervals down its curves. Strange markings, probably some sort of language, adorned the walls. "Ah, I think this should lead to the flight deck, if I'm not much mistaken."

"Flight deck?" asked Ace. "You mean we're on a ship of some kind?"

"Correct Ace," said the Doctor.

"How do ye ken, Doctor? Tha it is a space ship?"

"Hear that distant pulsing hum, Callom?" said he. "That's the ion power generator." Then he caught sight of a particular pattern of burn marks on the wall, obscuring the writing. "Wait a minute."

"What's the diff between this corridor wall and the next?" demanded Ace impatiently.

"If you like," muttered the Doctor, intently studying the burn marks. "You can go back to the TARDIS for a while. Trynia has her own isomorphic key . . . "

"No thanks, I'd rather be bored," muttered Ace. Trynia tapped her on the shoulder.

"Hey Ace. Why don't you go exploring a bit and find out how the ship's laid out?"

"Great idea, Yank," smiled the teenager, her face brightening.

"Take me too," whispered Callom, nudging her elbow.

"Wait a minute," said Trynia. Then looking at Ace, she relented. "Okay, but stick with Ace." Callom grinned mischievously. Like most children he loved sneaking away to explore.

"Okay, Callom," sighed Ace, hand on his shoulder. "Let's move."

She hoisted her backpack onto her shoulder, and set off down the corridor bend. MacLaren tartan swirling around his young knees, the Scot disappeared after her.

"What have you found, Doctor?" asked Trynia, nudging the Doctor on the arm.

"Intriguing how these burn marks follow a regular pattern, don't you think?"

Squinting one eye, Trynia examined at the scorched surface. She reached for a gold jeweler's loupe hanging around her neck on a gold chain, and peered at the same area with it. "This alloy happens to be a polymer with barite . . . "

"Humph, an alloy," muttered the Doctor, uninterested. "Civilization that built this thing didn't know of ceramics."

"Has a low stress factor anyway," stated Trynia defensively, tapping the wall with her knuckles. "Something like carbon fibers, but half plastic. Reminds me of barite."

"Did you say barite?" asked the Doctor, suddenly whirling his head about to stare at her.

"Yep I did," said she, continuing to scrutinize the burned wall through her magnifier. "What civilizations do you know of that would use polymer bonded with barite to line a spaceship?"

"Off the top of my memory . . . " mused the Doctor, licking his finger and pressing it to his forehead. "Not many."

"Barite is found in a few systems not far from Solaria, the Tellus system," said Trynia, turning away from the wall.

"Aha!" cried the Doctor, snapping his fingers. "Barite polymers only line the corridors of a ship. Certain models. This is the handiwork of Mars colonists around the year 2230, Earth rel-time."

"Okay, we have a ship, but where's the crew?" wondered Trynia. "Unless this craft is a derelict. But if it was, then why are the ion drive and the artificial gravity still operative?"

"I'm puzzled too. Surely they didn't just slip out for a constitutional."

"Something's telling me that it hasn't been abandoned for long." Trynia slid her eyes shut for a second, as if listening to something. "I can still hear the faint echoes of mental chatter." Then, she jolted and blinked hard.

"What's the matter?"

"Shouldn't let myself open up like that," she shuddered. "Bad habit. Whap me upsides the head if I do it again."

"Bad habit? Rubbish," sniffed the Doctor. "Yield to it! Might be trying to tell you something useful. After all, a sixth sense is a sense, like your sight or touch. Nothing to be ashamed of."

"Doctor, I think there's something you and I have to get straight. The sixth sense you claim I have, I do possess. But it's not a telepathic sense at all."

"Och, begorra!" whispered Callom. "A tomb?"

"I dunno," whispered Ace, stepping one foot into the room. "Stay behind me, though. Don't know if this lot is sleeping or . . . "

"Don't," pleaded Callom, sick with the mere mention of death. Following Ace, he crept through the array of bodies. The air right inside felt staler. Indeed the picture behind this shutter was grim. As they stood twenty feet in the room, a clanking made Callom freeze.

Whirling about, Ace drew out her baseball bat. "Who's there?" she shouted defiantly. Her bright eyes flicked back and forth wildly as she stalked the room on tense legs. Yet all that had happened was the door behind them clanged shut.

The Scots lad drew in a breath of relief. He dropped beside one of the bodies, one of a young man, and shuddered. Did he dare to search for its pulse? His fingers shakily touched a cold wrist. "Ace," he whispered. "They're all gone. Dead. What wiped them out?"

Striding up to him, she rested a hand on his shoulder. "Don't look at `em all," she advised. "Didn't suffer for long. Look at those burn marks. Probably from laser weapons. Battled it out I guess."

"Why would they want to destroy each other?" he asked staring at her, with wide eyed childish innocence.

The world wisely teenage regarded him grimly. "People hate each other and go nuts," she answered. "That's why the world still has wars where people blow each other sky high."

"But if they were the entire crew, was this a mutiny then?"

"A mutiny?"

"Och, dinna ye ken about ships 'n the sea?" groaned Callom, rolling his eyes. "Sometimes on long voyages they'rd be a break out of a panic nd' someone would rebel against the captain's word. Tha's mutiny. Ever heard of the Bounty?"

"Never rented that movie," muttered Ace, still on the alert. Her hands tightened on the baseball bat's handle.

"So that's why you're scared of the images?"

Trynia wrapped her arms around herself and shivered. "It's not telepathy. More like a sense that I've been here before, and can actually experience who was here . . . "

"Hmm, sounds like temporal echo perception . . . "

"You mean I can gaze back in time?"

"Not telepathically, but actually back in time. You're receiving images recorded in physical reality. Like the people who hear haunted houses speak."

A deep shudder shook the space craft suddenly. Then a strange floating sensation befell the geologist. Literally she drifted in thin air. "Well, Doc," she began. "So much for the artificial gravity. Guess those Mars colonists don't make things like they should."

"One less problem to weigh us down," quipped the Doctor. Extending his umbrella, he hooked its handle to one of the wall pipes running the length of the corridor. Trynia tumbled about playfully as she tried to get accustomed to weightlessness again.

"Do you suppose this ship's on-board system is going kaput?" she asked suddenly.

"Could very well be," the Doctor muttered. Gingerly he edged himself forwards with his fingertips pressing against the wall. "All the more reason to find the command deck."

"The command deck?" asked Trynia, curious at his silence. With a single touch of her foot or hand to the corridor walls she followed him. Ahead the Doctor pushed himself to a panel and held up his hand to a panel. Behind the opened door stretched a transparent cylinder ringed with metal sections.

"This ship's command deck is in the front section. We were in the living quarters."

"Not like many ship designs I've seen," muttered Trynia. "Except for the Aries class ships. They weren't used this far out though."

"This model probably has a nuclear drive unit spaced out from the living bay," guessed the Doctor, pulling himself along the railings to the far wall. Glancing out through the cylinder of stars Trynia could glance along the ship horizontally. To her right she saw the rest of the ship stretching its network of bars past a central section. Two spherical units were connected by triple bars to the residential section about one hundred feet back.

The tube was a connection corridor to the piloting unit up front. Trynia suddenly was able to picture what the ship looked like from the outside. Aries class survey ships were built for planetary reconnaissance between short hops. But this ship was modified for sub-space warp transit. Very unusual. Most sub space ships were not girders bolting modules together. Perhaps that's what made this class so popular for exploration? The fact the ship was made in separate units that could be custom latched for an individual expedition.

Yet Aries class ships had their weaknesses. Clearly they weren't much in a military conflict. They were unable to touch down on a planet's surface, and relied on shuttle units to pull up ground parties.

A circular hatch spiraled open to reveal a large flight deck festooned with thousands of computer panels. An arc of windows ringed the place about four feet from the deck.

"Doctor, look at this," muttered Trynia, pointing to a slump figure floating over a chair. "A human being I think. She's badly beat up."

"Good grief," muttered the Doctor, examining her wrists and skin. Fine marks crossed her face, and a dark spot lay about where her heart would be. "Killed by a concussion maser."

Trynia shuddered, and pushed away. Concussion masers were not used for wartime. Usually they were employed in the blasting away of bedrock when shelters were built on a new colony world.

The Doctor's hands flew across the control panel next to the victim. "Maybe I can bring up the computer log . . . "

"Doc, I don't think that's wise . . . "

"What's wrong? I thought you'd like to know what's happened . . . "

"But there could be a booby trap . . . if what happened what I think happened."

"Trynia, I am quite familiar with this type of ship. From the way she is floating, she was making her last journal entry, and activated the lock file command on her log. There's no booby trap with it. Just a special code."

"Since when did you travel on a ship like this?"

"When I was on my way to the Wheel,

"Wheel?"

"Space station XL7J883. . . About fifty years ago," he recounted. "Or was it one hundred and fifty years ago? I just can't recall when."

The cursor blinked across the screen as he typed in the log code sequences she could think of. "Aha," he laughed in triumph when the display read "ACCESS GAINED."

CAPTAIN's LOG:

SPACESHIP: Cerise, Class Aries Relief/Survey ship

LOCATION: Near Messier Arm 2

DESTINATION: THEILERIA MINOR

"Theileria Minor," muttered the Doctor, narrowing his brow. "Now where have I heard that before? Anyway, let's see. Says here that they were transporting a special cargo. To a floundering colony. Some sort of Growth Accelerator . . . "

"Growth Accelerator?" questioned Trynia. "Move over a sec . . . "

The Doctor scrolled to another entry. He patiently moved to one side as the Trynia read an entry for herself. "Let's see. Unusual cloud of strange lights encountered midway through the voyage . . . "

"I know. Similar to what happened to the TARDIS. Causing power fluctuations . . . Repairs made . . . main star drive disabled."

"Okay. Suspicion of sabotage when drive continuously failed to malfunction."

"And get this Doctor. Says here that they suspected sabotage when the main drive was blown and someone suggested going to an uncharted area of space. Have you ever heard of this planet, Doctor?"

"What planet . . . "

"That part of the log is partially deleted. I can't make out the name well. Looks like Kala."

"Kala? Never heard of it," muttered the Doctor.

"Come back here, you little terror . . . " she cried, struggling after him.

Both children soared through a corridor. They'd left the one room far behind to keep its secrets for just a little longer. Callom was practically space-happy. The moment they started floating he'd spun and kicked trying to get his bearings. Straight blonde hair fluffed into a flaxen halo around his head. He looked perfectly at home weightless, despite his soft blue and red wool kilt and home-knit sweater. Sky-blue, golden yellow, and flannel red seemed too gentle and soft against the metallic iron grey of the corridor. Even the tips of his tartan scarf floated spectrally as he drifted.

Ace had felt nauseous. Her braided hair floated. There was no clear sense of up or down. She turned green and tumbled awkwardly, clutching her baseball bat. "How'm I supposed to move?" she groaned, trying to swim over to Callom. "All the ships I was on had gravity."

"This isnae water, Ace," he said. "Ye canna jest thrash about like that. Ye gotta pull yuirself along."

"Fine for you," she muttered. "You're near a railing."

"Take that bat . . . " he said.

Ace shouldered her bat, and tumbled with the effort. "And?"

"Throw it away from ye as hard as ye can. At the far wall."

"What?"

"Do it."

She tossed her bat away. Then she began to glide slowly across the chamber toward the Scots boy. "Grab ma hand nau. That's it." Callom grabbed hold of her wrist and pulled her effortlessly to the rail where he clung.

"Now how do I get my bat back, smarty?" she asked him.

"Och, yuir niver satisfied," he laughed. "By the way, do ye have some rope or something?"

"Yes. In my backpack here. What's your plan?"

"Tie yon rope to this here railing. Then crawl along the rope to where ye wanna go. Toward the door."

"Fine, squirt. But you're up the creek once you run outta rope. I've only got fifteen feet."

"I'm thinking . . . " he murmured closing his eyes. "If only we had some sort of a pop gun or a crossbow to fire the rope."

"Left my crossbow on the TARDIS."

"Or else a kind of jet . . . "

"A jet?" Ace lit up. "Hold on a sec."

Callom held onto her jacket collar as she wrestled with her backpack. She drew out an aerosol can. "Here's a jet for you, squirt . . . "

"What's that? Yuir nitro-9?"

"No. That's in the bottom. This really is spray deodorant. "

"That'll make a real smell fer sure. But that's pretty guid!"

Using the aerosol cans as hand jets they made their way along the ship. That is after Ace recovered her bat. Soon the smell of hair spray and deodorant filled the musty crew cabins. Callom was the one who found the cargo hold.

"Mebbe if we look in here we can find out what happened to the crew?"

"If we can get the door open," mused Ace, a mischievous smile appearing on her face for a change.

"Could we do it without the flashes and bangs this time?" "You don't think that I would waste this stuff on a mere door, do you, squirt?"

"What do ye have in mind? Some kind of lock-pick? It looks like Captain Kirk's safety deposit box!"

"I know a thing or two about these future space doors. This kinda space craft's no battleship. It's just a space cruiser. Hold onto me while I get my kit."

"I'll jest anchors mahsel with the rope."

Callom gripped her jacket as she wrestled something out of her backpack. Around his waist was the rope tied to a nearby railing.

"Y'see most've these doors are magnetically sealed . . . "

"I take it ye ken more than I thought about these doors. Since when were you on this ship?"

"When you get whisked away from your planet and popped into an intergalactic shopping mall, you learn a lot of things about space doors. And diff models of craft." As Ace spoke, she fiddled with some sort of small device. Callom thought it looked like a portable radio with headphones.

"That a lock-pick?"

She plastered it to the door. Then started to punch access codes into the digital entry pad. "It's something that lets me listen to what I'm doing."

"Strange that this part of the ship should be locked, when the other rooms we went through were all unlocked."

"Nearly there squirt . . . "

"Where's your spirit of adventure, Trynia?"

"It's obvious that the people on this craft killed themselves. We can't accomplish much by sticking around here."

"What's with you? You look as if you've seen a ghost."

"I think we should find our companions . . . "

Just then the ship lurched. "What did I tell you? This ship's still on a heading toward some solar system."

"I thought the stellar drive was out," said Trynia. "At least that's what the log said."

"Don't you think that whoever left this log would make some effort to complete their mission? The auto pilot is suddenly engaged."

"You did something when you turned on the computer? Like activated some subroutine when you accessed the journal."

Her anxious eyes met the Doctor's. Mutually he nodded. "Whoever left that log was counting on someone being able to read it at a later date."

"So that commander was expecting help?" she realized.

"Exactly. Even if it took a week, a month, or a century. If that's true, then wherever we are headed to may hold the answer to this mystery, Trynia."

"Perhaps the person who set the auto pilot was crazy," suggested Trynia.

"Perhaps, but I want to know why. These people were on a mission, and this commander was dead-set on completing it."

"I think we owe it to these people to try and figure out what killed them," argued Trynia. "Let someone else go to their destination. Like another ship from the Mars Colony. It's their affair."

"But they killed themselves. At least from what I've seen. And the people at their port of call will want whatever cargo is on board this ship."

"Fine. But you can send a message to that colony and tell them."

"They might have an urgent need," persisted the Doctor.

Sighing, Trynia said, "Doctor, I think I'll find our friends. They might have found some more answers."

"You do that," he muttered, turning to the log once more.

Trynia shook her head as she drifted away.

"Och, so quiet . . . " whispered Callom. "This must be the hold."

"You know lots about ships too, eh?"

"Ye can see that, lass. Take a look at this manifest. What were they shipping?"

"Huh, looks a lot like survey equipment to me," muttered Ace, drifting over to one crate. She glanced at the labels.

"I canna read this writing," complained Callom. "How can ye? No, lemme guess. You can read the writing cause ye were in space."

Ace nodded. "Says here . . . electronics . . . spares . . . "

Callom drifted by a latched-down box. He glanced at the cryptic symbols adorning it. A red cross was printed just under the stenciled letters. "I betch ye this is the first aid kit," he called.

"That's right. I thought you couldn't read the writing."

"A red cross is very clear," he giggled.

"Showoff," she muttered.

"Whoa, what's this."

"What?"

"This box here says Experimental Growth Accelerator. And is it tied up good! There's a warning on it . . . "

Distantly Callom discerned a voice. *What is it?

*Callom, where are you now?

*Ace n me are in the cargo hold. Jest looking aboot. She's found a device, called a Growth Accelerator.

*Stay there. I'm coming to meet you two.

She came to the hatch Ace had opened with her futuristic lock-pick set. Distant voices echoed in her ears. One was Scots, the other Midlands. And arguing by the sound of them.

Something about the Doctor bothered her. She wanted to discover where the ship was headed. But she didn't want to set off there without first discovering what happened to the Cerise's crew. Did they kill each other out of suspicion, or did some outside force manipulate them to destroy each other through mind control?

*Callom, are you there?

*Aye.

*How are you two getting along there?

*She's right curious enau . . .

Ace spun around when she heard Trynia's swami belt jingling. The carabineers on the mountain climbing gear rattled. "Cor! We thought you were a ghost or something."

Over in one corner, Callom covered his mouth to stifle his giggling. Lately everything made Ace jump, grabbing her baseball bat like he grabbed his skeindu when he was agitated. Up in one corner he perched, arms spread out anchoring him to a railing. He watched Trynia clip a carabineer to the railing and run a blue nylon rope through it. "Yuir a wee spider nau, eh?"

Into the cabin she drifted. Closely the geologist noted all the floating crates sheathed in metal casing. Strange that the cargo should remain unscathed by the attacks. It was a relief ship, judging from the cargo manifest.

"Brill idea, using the mountain climbing gear," commented Ace, gripping a nearby railing. "We just ran out of jet fuel."

"Jet fuel?"

Holding up the empty aerosol can, Callom explained, "Just a little idea of Ace's."

"Wish I had my crossbow," she muttered. "It'd be just the thing."

"Not really. You'd fly backwards whenever you'd try to use it."

"Where's the Professor gone off to?'

"He's on the command deck . . . "

"Och, ye mean the bridge?"

Ace rolled her eyes. "That's the old-fashioned word for it."

Callom pulled a face at her. "Yuir jest mad you didna think of it."

"Now, children, let's not bite each others heads off . . . "

"Did he read the captain's log?" asked Callom, from his perch.

"Yes. It says the crew attacked each other when the star drive kept breaking down. They couldn't make it to their port of call, as you would say, Callom. But I feel like there was a saboteur on board."

"Who'd want the cargo?"

"Mebbe someone wants that Growth Accelerator machine, or something?" suggested Callom. "But what would that do?"

"Accelerate growth," said Ace, smirking. "I'd have thought you'd know what that means."

"Of course I ken what the words mean. But what use is that device?"

"Mm. I've heard of such devices," said Trynia. "They're used to stimulate the growth of crops on Colony planets. On this one world I visited, called Gaiadeuce, they needed one to grow enough food for the first year."

"Could it be used as a weapon?" asked Ace.

"Thought yuid ask that," jabbed Callom. She ignored him.

"Perhaps, yes. But it might be used to accelerate the development of livestock. Accelerate chicken eggs into chicks and chickens. Or push the growth of wool. Even perhaps push evolutionary processes. But they'd need a temporal modulator on it to do that . . . "

"She sounds like the Professor," muttered Ace.

"Yeaow!" they all cried. A lurch sent all three sailing in separate directions. Except for Trynia, who grabbed hold of her rope. Engines boomed into life as the retro rockets fired. The geologist grabbed hold of the young Scot as he flew by her. Ace snagged the rope. All struggled to hold onto it or tie it to themselves.

"What started the motors?" cried Ace.

"Someone's alive on this ship . . . " gasped Callom, fear rising in him. "Could be the Doctor? What do you think, yank?"

"I dunno, Ace. It doesn't feel like a tractor beam. The rockets are firing. How did the star drive get activated?"

"How long did it take you to get here, Tryn?" asked Ace.

"Do you think the Doctor got the ship on line?"

Both women glanced at each other. Callom felt resonance as the same thought crossed their minds. "Why would he start the ship up?"

"If he wanted to find out where it was preprogrammed to go . . . " snapped Trynia, anger darkening her mature face.

"You think the Professor would actually do that?" Ace wondered.

"He wanted to figure out where this ship was headed. He figured that whoever left the log would have programmed the ship to follow a certain course! But I think he's set off a trap!"

"Usually the Professor has a good reason for doing something . . . unless . . . " Ace trailed off. A similar look of fear crossed her face. She tried to hide it from Trynia. But Callom knew Trynia was not fooled.

"I've got to stop this ship!" announced Trynia. Against the thrust of the rockets, she pulled herself back along the rope. "C'mon, Callom!"

"Coming!" he said obediently. Ace followed, protesting. Surely the Doctor knew what he was doing. At least most of the time.

However there were times when she wasn't sure. He had a dark side, the part of him that was not human that surfaced from time to time. At those time he would sacrifice his friends for the greatest good. Ace shivered. She didn't know. And Trynia's fierce devotion to protecting Callom also was frightening. She might take unnecessary risks to protect him.

That could spell conflict. "With a capital 'C'," joked Ace grimly, pulling herself along Trynia's rope.

Still, one detail bothered him. The name stated in the log for the planet. That planet the ship had been passing when the mutinies started. What did Trynia say it was?

He recalled the log entry. "Kala? Never heard of that star system," he mused, scratching above his left ear. His turtle face wrinkled in doubt. "Perhaps it was misspelled, or misread by our dear geologist want-to-be."

Scrolling though the journal entries, he saw that there were whole portions of text blanked out. With a frown, the Doctor, punched a few keys on the log console. He fumbled through his pockets to produce his half-moon reading glasses. "Passing near planetary system Ka__o four. G sequences star, ten planets. Three moons . . . "

Two letters were missing. The name of the system could be the name given by Earth colonists. Unlikely, because by this time period, the Earth colonists had made contact with other intelligent space faring civilizations.

Again he turned to a small console set into the navigational computer. Depressing a key he ringed up a three dimensional image of a star map. Among the stars traced a red line to indicate the ship's intended trajectory. "Theileria Minor," he muttered, looking at the M star binaries to the G star. He checked the present heading. Was there a deviation? Not according to the guidance system was there.

The ship shuddered and wheezed its way out of hyper drive. Streaks became single points again in the view-port. Discretely he coughed. Then peered out the view port, overtop his glasses. His eyes widened. "Great galaxies, this looks wrong!"

Constellations he gaped at through the view-port were not the corresponding ones in the stellar map!

"Kala?" he muttered, taking off his battered straw hat and tumbling about. "Karlo?"

Maneuvering thrusters fired. A light blinked, to indicate the ship had entered the gravity well of a solar system. At sub drive it sidled, past several terrestrial planets. As each planet whizzed by, the Doctor felt sicker. Theileria Minor's system was purporting to have two gas giants. This system had but one.

"It's not Kala," he muttered. "It's Skaro."

Grimly he fired the ship's retro rockets.

"Ahem."

"Ace. I didn't see you there. Where's Callom?"

"He's waiting in the other room. I want a word with you, Yank."

"Ace, what's wrong? That way you're staring at me, is uncomfortable."

"I get this feeling, like you don't trust the Professor," she admitted, brown eyes fixing into Trynia's. Despite the fact she was weightless, Ace tried to lean against the corridor railing. All around them the linking corridor curved. It resembled a glass gerbil tube with a radius of eight feet, for in all directions an observer could see the stars.

"He could have brought us into a trap, for all we know," she snapped. "Just look at that."

"Yeah, we've entered a solar system. So?"

"That's not Theileria Minor!"

"How would you know?"

"I've been to Theileria Minor, as a scientist on an Earth ship," said Trynia. "And this system is not the right one!"

"Prove it, Yank. For all I know, how should the Doctor and I trust you?"

Patiently Trynia reached into one of the vest's larger pockets. She pulled out an instrument that looked something like a brass telescope with a wedge shaped spider-web affixed to it. It resembled a sextant used by sailors on Earth. "I'll prove it to you, kid," she nodded. "Come over here. This is my constellation/magnitude spectrometer."

"Sounds impressive. But what's the gadget do?"

Holding it to one eye, she aimed toward one star.

"See that gas giant? It's a star with an apparent magnitude of one. But its absolute magnitude is negative two. It appears dimmer compared to the star in this system. I fix on the distant star on one half of my view here in the eyepiece. Then I bring the other half of the view to fix on the main star. Bringing the two stars side-by-side, I then look on the reading. That gives me the angle between them, and their difference in magnitude. Then I take a reading to determine their relative positions."

"Great. What does all that mean?"

"Constellations change as you travel in space. The patterns of the stars change. Each star has its own magnitude. But it shifts more than the background galaxies. This device measures the deviations between stars. That star's shift with respect to a galaxy compared to the solar system's star with respect to the same galaxy. Gives me a rough estimate of how far we've traveled in space."

"So you're saying we're not in the right solar system?"

"Exactly. The star shifts are wrong. Someone is behind this."

Angrily she handed the spectrometer to Ace, who suggested an alternate theory, "Hold on a sec. Just suppose there was a mutiny on board."

"Okay, shoot."

"And a person set the ship to a new heading, for some reason. It could be there was no one left alive to set the new course."

"But if that was the case, why was there no one else in the control cabin but the Commander?" pointed out Trynia.

"Maybe someone escaped from the ship."

"No, the Doctor said all the life pods were in place." Shaking her head, Trynia continued down the rope. Ace peered through the device, and then realized Trynia had forgotten it completely. "Hey wait! You forgot your scope!"

They reached the flight deck, in the `fore section of the Cerise. With a mighty shove Trynia propelled herself to the command area. "I demand to know why you sent us to the wrong system!" she snapped.

Sadly the Doctor looked up from the control. "Well, how was I to know it was wrong?"

"You could have gotten a star fix," suggested Trynia.

"The navigational computer was faulty!"

"That's no excuse! Didn't you think of looking outside?"

"My dear Trynia, I am not that dense!" he protested. "You were the one who read the name of the star system wrong in the journal."

"Hey, pack it in you two!"

Trynia and the Doctor both shut up. Together they spun themselves to face Ace. "That's enough squabbling. Wrap up and tell me what the 'ecks gonna happen!"

"According to my readings, we are not in Theileria Minor," began Trynia.

"What do you think I just discovered?" interrupted the Doctor. "Of course we aren't headed there. Whoever sabotaged the ship obviously set it on a new course."

"Professor!"

"Well, at least since I last checked the log," continued the Doctor sheepishly. "And I think we will soon discover the answer to all our questions on that planet below."

Ace and Trynia looked out to see a curved hemisphere rising up under the forward view-port. A dreary dark mantle of clouds drifted across its curve. Between swirls of the mantle peeked grey continents against grey seas.

"Some toxic waste ball," muttered the geologist sadly. "Looks like a nuclear war hit it."

"Sadly, yes. This is clearly a war-torn world. Allow me to introduce you to the planet Skaro." "Skaro?" gasped Ace. "But that's where . . . "

"There should be no one there now. At least judging by the age of this ship. But someone is operating this device, and I must know why."

"What precisely are you hiding, Doctor," said Trynia quietly. Grim faced, she held down her anger.

"Doctor!" shouted a young voice. Callom sailed into the room, pulling along Trynia's lifeline. "There's a ship coming up to us! From the planet!"

"Ace, take Callom back to the TARDIS . . . and stay there . . . " began the Doctor. "You too, Trynia."

"Doctor, I demand to know what in the Twelve Galaxies you are worried about. That look on your face sure tells me it's life threatening!"

Anxious faces all looked toward the Doctor. "There's no time to tell you," he snapped. "Just do as I say, Trynia."

"This time, Doctor," said Trynia, staring him straight in the face. " I stay here, with you." He coughed nervously.

Already Ace tugged at Callom's black jacket. She pulled him out the door after her. "C'mon Trynia!" Callom urged. "There may be danger!"

"And he's going to tackle it alone?" snorted Trynia. "I think not. Callom, you go with Ace. Here's my key."

She tossed her isomorphic key towards Callom. Neatly Ace caught it, and the hatch door spiraled shut.

"Rather noble of you to stay," sniffed the Doctor.

"Someone has to make sure you stay out of trouble. Obviously you expected a trap, and you fell right into it. But what are you plotting now?"

"Ace and Callom should be safe in the TARDIS. The attackers should not notice it, if it's in the corridor I think it is." Trynia watched him run fingers down some warmth buttons. "There, that should close off their section of the ship. As soon as their infrared signals pass the sensor."

"Say what?"

"I programmed the camera to respond to the humanoid temperature range. All the door sensors, with the exception of the cargo bays and private quarters, are triggered by heat patterns. Specifically those of a human body, or part of a human body."

"So you programmed the doors to open and close to a general heat pattern, Doctor. For their sake, I hope whoever's boarding us won't. But what do we do?"

"Sit tight for a few minutes. Then I want you to head down to the cargo bay. And reel in the rope as you go."

"What then?"

"Get the Growth Accelerator. And slip into the aft section of the ship. I guessed from the design of this ship the aft section can be jettisoned from the front as a safety measure."

"Won't the attackers shoot it down?"

"Not after the reception I'll give them," grinned the Doctor mischievously. "Now get going."

"I thought you liked being in space, squirt."

"It's no fun anymore, Ace. No wi' space pirates latching on n' all."

"Pirates?" scoffed Ace. "Stop thinking in the past! We're gonna be okay. Just keep climbing!" Three percussive blasts rocked the chamber. "Sounds like they're cutting through," muttered Ace.

"Why dinna they jest use the airlock or something?"

"That door probably has a locking mechanism. And whoever is breakin in isn't foolin around."

Trynia's rope meandered along the metal corridors in the aft section of the ship. Ace guessed they were in the residential area. The ship was in three sections, the cargo and residential were in the middle, while the drive unit was separated by three pylons spacing it far from the rest of the craft. A short corridor, the one Trynia had taken her astral reading in, connected the residential crew quarters to the command deck. Here was where the flying and stellar cartography were done. This research vessel was a standard Aries class ship. Ace had seen several come and go from the colony planet of Iceworld.

That had happened before she met the Doctor. And after she'd left Earth. Memories of cleaning up other people's messes in a drink bar on a futuristic shopping mall flashed for a moment in her mind's eye. She shut the memory door on that chapter in her life.

At last Callom reached the door. Automatically it spiraled open. "Get in, quick!" Ace told him, and gave him a shove. Reaching out behind herself she reeled in the rope as before. Then thrust herself through before the door completely sealed shut behind her.

Distantly they heard explosions. "C'mon. Get a move on, kid!" Ace cried to Callom. For painful moments they threaded their way through the scorched walled hallways. People once had walked here, and lived and laughed here. Now the two children simply sought the refuge of the familiar. The TARDIS floated in mid air, slowly rotating. Eagerly Ace and Callom slipped inside.

Yet the Doctor said there was no time to explain. He had explaining to do. Trynia had never heard of Skaro. The name sounded hard and cruel, even to her ears. What sort of civilization existed there? She was certain to find out soon enough.

Another boom sounded awful close. Trynia eased herself down a vertical shaft, perpendicular to the one in which she'd traversed. A pressure door led down to the cargo deck.

Seconds later she pushed herself down. Glanced at all the undelivered cargo. People's lives most likely depended on its arrival, and it would never come. All the space mail and the foodstuffs and seeds that would never be planted sat in their metal sealed crates. Trynia shook the visions out of her imagination, and crossed over to the wrapped electronic devices. It was easy for her to read the modern labels written in Hispanariese letters. "El Accelerando Germinating," she muttered, gripping a bundle about the size of her arm. Compact by twenty second century standards, this device could germinate a field in a matter of days which would normally take weeks. Whoever invented this biocatalyzer that sped up cell division was taking on enormous responsibility. Why the last time she'd seen one in action, severe repercussions occurred.

But that was fifty years after. Strange about Time Travel. You saw the general trends, even if you gaped at the immensity of the Continuum. Event after event and a multitude of dizzying possibilities could make a human's mind mad. Yet to Trynia she saw the awesome totality with childlike simplicity. How did the Time Lords perceive History?

Fzam!

Trynia peeled herself off the wall. Somehow the gravity was reactivated. Her whole body felt heavy, even thought they were falling around the planet at several thousand miles per hour. Against the pull of the field she hauled herself up the rope hand over hand, device carefully tied to her back with a length of nylon rope.

She reached the horizontal shaft. Pressing down on cold metal she hauled herself out of the pressure cell leading to the cargo hold. For a brief time she allowed herself to rest and catch her breath. "Gee, gravity is exhausting," she heard herself say. Tottering to her feet, she stumbled off down the corridor as fast as she could.

Each step became easier as her feet clanged against the metal floor. Each step carried her away from the explosions. Just what was the Doctor doing up on the bridge of the Cerise? She remembered him shutting the pressure door behind her as she left. And punching keys like a piano player.

Once more she was in the maze of corridors. The residential section on levels One and Two were where the crew cabins existed. Following the pattern of scorch marks she traced her way back to the TARDIS.

KABOOM!

Trynia grabbed the railing for dear life. Suddenly the wall blew inward. Cold void opened mere yards away through a jagged frame. All the air around her sucked out to fill the vast maw of space. With tremendous strength she struggled to pull herself to a door, or anyplace still pressurized.

Despite her terror she was awestruck. She spotted the alien ship latched onto the side of the Cerise with an airlock tube. Beneath them both moved the convex curve of the grey orb. It filled half the sky, moving into its nighttime phase. She could see every minute detail of curling swirling cloud masses crossing the terminator. Every storm, every gale swishing miles below.

Spiraling out in space was a blue box. The TARDIS rushed away from the Cerise, blown back by the explosive decompression. Trynia would soon follow, if her strength gave out. Already her frostbitten fingers were slipping from the freezing barite bar.

Holding her breath she clipped herself to the bar with a carabineer. Slid herself along the bar to a doorway. Hoped and prayed she could get the door, mere inches away, open. Her hair felt as if it would be sucked from her scalp. She tried to equalize the pressure in her ears in vain.

Something was drifting away from the ship. A small craft, spherical with three rods and a cylinder protruding. Tiny lights twinkled at points in the white sphere. It was none other than the flight deck of the Cerise. One of the blasts had torn it loose.

Huddled together in the TARDIS, Callom and Ace saw Trynia's desperate battle. "Och no!" cried the Scot. "We gotta save her!"

"How?" demanded Ace.

"I must. . . teleport to her. . ."

"You can't from this distance!" protested Ace. "The force field in the TARDIS will stop you!"

"I canna let her die!" shouted Callom. "When you see us on the scanner screen, open the doors and pull us in!"

"What?"

"Tie the rope ye pulled in around yon console! Tie yuirself to it, and then ye won't be sucked out so ye can pull us in!"

Gathering all his courage he fixed the sight of Trynia in his mind. The distance was increasing by the minute. But as long as he could see her he was alright.

A switch fired in his mind. A circuit completed, and he was there by her side, grabbing onto her as she was being sucked away. Wrapping his arms around her, he sucked a breath and stared out into infinity.

Just a blue speck now was the TARDIS. It didn't orbit with the ship, for the explosive decompression had blown it away. Callom unclipped the carabineer and let himself be sucked into space. He knew he'd survive, for at least a minute anyway.

Long enough to see the TARDIS, and think his way there. Long enough to feel Ace's hand clench them and haul them into the TARDIS before the air ran out.

Before they could pull themselves in, something happened. A beam caught hold of the TARDIS, tractoring them. Ace barely managed to pull them through the doors before the TARDIS was pulled forwards. Towards the ship. A large spiral hatch spun open, and the TARDIS was draw inside.

Stabilizers pushed against the planet's surface. If he glimpsed out the forward view screen he could see grey streaks blowing up beean the ship. And the glowing trails of fire soaring between himself and the streaks. Quickly the glow drifted from white hot to orange, then to cherry red. At last the heat cleared, and he could see the convex curve of the planet looming ahead.

Trees cracked as the ship skimmed through. Everything went black behind his eyes.

"We don't have time to pick daisies," he snapped.

"But we should pay respect to the dead, Professor," said Ace.

"With ten Daleks searching for us?"

Ace dragged the Commander's body. Luckily the woman wasn't too heavy. Already rigor mortis had set in.

"How's Callom?"

"Still out cold, Doctor. Where in blazes are we?"

"Skaro. This is a petrified forest."

All overhead were brittle branches. Gray sunlight cast its light on bone white trunks. Beneath their feet they could feel the crunch of the under growth, long since shattered.

"Where's the TARDIS?" the Doctor asked.

"I'll look around," said Trynia. "Keep an eye on Callom."

The young Scot lay motionless on a space blanket. His skin looked as pale as the surrounding landscape. Ace sensed Trynia was worried sick, even though she hid it well. "Ace," she said. "Let's take our Commander back to the Flight deck..."

Trynia slipped her hands under the body and hefted it to her shoulders. Ace clutched her bat and followed. At least Trynia showed interest in respecting the dead. Minutes later, they spotted the Police Box. It sat on its side, buried half way into the charred ground. "Is nothing alive here?" Ace asked.

"It's been dead for years," said Trynia.

"How do you know, if you've never been here?"

"Death's stench cries out. That's why. Call it an impression. Not psychic."

"What do you mean?"

"An echo. Many locations have temporal impressions of stressful events. The forest is riddled with them."

"We'll need a shovel to get this out," said Ace, practical minded. Hands thrust into her pockets, she circled the half-buried TARDIS.

Trynia spotted the fractured eggshell of the crashed flight deck. A huge gash spread up the two hemispheres. Shouldering the commander's body, she stepped inside. Then she disappeared from view. Ace cautiously followed.

Inside the flight deck, Trynia lay the commander on her chair. Ace covered her with a blanket. For a moment the two women regarded each other. What could you say about a woman you hardly knew?

"What do we say, yank?" she asked. "It's not like we were buddies or anything."

Trynia looked up at the sky and the planet around her. "I stand in the midst of death. This woman is far from her home and family. Yet she did not die in vain. the people here, on this planet, didn't either. I ask what ever power this woman believed in to take her to where she needs to be. Maybe the lives here, can keep her comforted with their understanding."

"What?"

"I didn't know her. But I did know she did the best job protecting her crew. She was brave to the last."

Ace noticed Trynia's silence. She opened her own mouth to say, "I didn't know her either. But she had nerve. Stood of to disaster when everyone went crazy. Just hope her family, friends will know she's found. Wherever she is, hope it's better than here."

Trynia nodded, and covered the commander's face. Then, the Mantissan turned to the gash, and stepped one foot outside. In her hands she carried a small box. Ace guessed it must be the log of the craft.

In the clearing, the Doctor gently fingered Callom's cheek. Cold and clammy to the touch, the lad's skin seemed almost like rubber. Still, the Doctor felt the breaths slowly wafting against his hand. He spun around. Ace and Trynia crunched through the fragile fossil pants.

"Back so soon," he asked.

"Yeah. Any change, Professor?"

"Still the same."

"We found the TARDIS," said Trynia. "About fifty feet from here."

Dusty air made Trynia cough. "I'd like to get moving," said the Doctor. "It's not safe to stay..."

"We're going t' have some digging ahead of us," said Ace.

"Let's go."

"I'll take Callom," said Trynia. Before anyone could argue, she slipped hands under his knees and back. Then squatting, she lifted him up. Effortlessly she stood, cradling him in her arms.

Ace hoped they wouldn't join the restless spirits here. As the followed the Doctor in the strange procession, she shivered away the coldness.

It was only fifty yards to the TARDIS. Fifty yards too many. Ace glanced around herself warily as she usually did. To her young ears, each sound felt magnified in the gaunt silence. That kind of silence that sucks all little noises into itself, and spits them back out a hundred times louder. Her ears clung to the sanity in her own crunching footsteps, and those of the Doctor ahead of her, and Trynia behind her.

Trynia suddenly pushed from behind. "I heard something. Tell him to pick up the pace...."

The Doctor stopped. Everyone crashed into his restraining arm. "Stop right there," he hissed.

"What..." came out of Ace's lips before she choked them back.

"Turn around, quietly..." he choked. All the color blanched from his face. Hands gripped his umbrella as he looked back only with his eyes.

"When I tell you to run, run..." he said stiffly, in the same volume of whisper.

"The TARDIS..."

"Don't ask questions, Mantissan," he grunted. "Just do as I say..."

Trynia read the urgency in his tense clamped jaw, and silent anger. Something was preventing them from getting to the TARDIS. Whatever it was, the Doctor feared enormously. When the Doctor was that afraid, she knew it had to be terrible.

They placed their steps cautiously in the undergrowth as they retreated. Trynia, the Doctor, and Ace all backpedaled. A high pitched electronic whine impeded at the top of Ace's hearing. Like those tone tests she had to take in school so many years ago. Where the nurse tested the high frequencies you could hear. Or that whine that computer screens gave off when they were on in a lab. Only this whine grew in intensity.

"Run!" thundered the Doctor, when they had retreated ten feet. He shoved past Trynia and Ace, clutching his hat to his head. Trynia and Ace rushed after him.

"What's stopping us from going to the TARDIS?" asked Trynia, between labored breaths. She shifted Callom to her back.

"We must get to the city," breathed the Doctor. "It's the only place."

"But if we go there, they'll trap us for sure," cried Ace.

"That's the only place we can be safe from the radiation. The Lake of Mutations and the mountains have cut off our retreat. Anywhere we go their scanners can track us..."

"What about into the forest?" asked Trynia.

"We wouldn't survive. There are worse mutations running around in there..."

But then they could no longer comment upon any mutuations, for they had been found! Trynia drew in her breath sharply, clutching Callom to her.

"Run!" the Doctor shouted. "To the city!"